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A Birth Story

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September 27. Your birth was scheduled. It took time, but I finally came to terms with that. I found out the hard way with your sister that I was unable to have babies the way I had hoped. My pelvis is simply not the right size and shape to serve as a baby passage. My doctor told me I could choose a date for the surgery. I launched into an internal over analytical calendar frenzy. It felt like the heaviest burden to choose a person’s birthday. For someone who believes that babies come when they are ready, on a specific day, when the moon is right, and all that other witchy shit… There simply was no way to choose the “correct” day. Because the correct day wouldn’t be chosen at all. The day came to actually schedule the surgery. As I stood at the counter staring at my phone calendar, ready to commit to my chosen day, the lady told me that the Women’s Center would call me with a date after consulting the OR schedule and the doctor’s sc...
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Twenty-Four

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  The above photograph was taken on my fourth birthday. I had the chicken pox, so the only people who could attend my party were people who had already had them. Obviously, Barney had the chicken pox before me. My twenty-fourth birthday didn't have Barney balloons (but there was ice cream cake!), but it was equally as enjoyable. I spent the day lounging with my family before making a trip to David Crockett State Park. Highlights of the day: - Violet sleeping 20 minutes later than usual (me sleeping 20 minutes later than usual) - Waking up to a birthday serenade voicemail - Pulling the birthday card to eat an extra biscuit at breakfast - My nephew coming to visit in a dragon costume - Violet's shoe falling off (being kicked off) into the waterfall at the park - Seeing a lobster in the creek - no, it was not a crawdad, it was huge and it was a lobster - A gift certificate for a one hour massage (see next paragraph regarding mom knees) - A surprise birthday cake, co...
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Moving

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We're moving across the country in a month and a half. I've started packing. In general, packing sucks. However, I don't really feel too sad about boxing our stuff up to be opened up once again in another home, another state, another time zone. I've done it multiple times by now. Then I got to the nursery. I walked in with a couple of boxes and some newspaper and just looked around. I tenderly touched her books and trinkets. The vintage cat figurines from Aunt Sissy. The delicate fabric we framed and hung above the crib. The handles on the dresser that was once mine than I left tarnished because I liked the character. That was three days ago and the boxes are still sitting in the corner of the room - empty. The nursery hasn't been touched. For whatever reason, I just don't want to pack it away. It's not like we're getting rid of Violet's things, but the thought of dismantling her room, her very first room, deeply disrupted my spirit. I do...
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